


A World in His Hand

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, M/M, Macro/Micro, Object Insertion, Spanking, Stripping, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: Aziraphale thinks shrinking down to around ten inches tall is the perfect way handle delicate work around the bookshop. Crowley thinks it's perfect for other things.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 97
Collections: All Gifts Left In A Server For More Than A Fortnight





	A World in His Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tezca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tezca/gifts).



“All right, angel, I give up. What is happening right now?”

Aziraphale ignored Crowley until he had laid the final bit of Korean paper onto the vellum. The patch was not much larger than the head of a pin, but easy enough to grip at his current size. He smoothed the fresh patch down with the blunt end of the bone folder that was barely shorter than he was at the moment, watching the patch for any sign of buckling or crinkling. When there was none, he nodded in satisfaction.

“Oh, just a spot of book repair,” he said, hefting the bone folder over his shoulder and starting for the edge of the manuscript. “This poor dear was getting a bit tatty without my noticing. Such a shame, it's a real 1624 Langerhan, as well. Do you know, there are only four of these left in the world?”

“I can safely say that I did not, angel,” Crowley said absently. “So, this is just to do the best job possible for your suffering book?”

Aziraphale stepped down from the edge of the book, careful to avoid snagging his clothes on the sharp edges of the book's iron locks. At this size, the world became full of perils he never considered. He set down the bone-folder, reaching for the coat that he had left slung over a bottle of gum arabic, but Crowley picked up the coat before he could reach it.

“Like a doll's clothes,” Crowley marveled, holding the garment between two fingers.

“Like _my_ clothes,” Aziraphale corrected. “And since it is a little chilly in here, I would like it returned immediately. You're a bit early, but I was thinking we could go to Rudolfo's ...”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, are you cold?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale was just about to say yes, of course he was, he had just been saying so, when he found himself knocked on his back, Crowley's hand blanketing him in one gentle motion.

“Is that better, angel?” Crowley said softly, and Aziraphale's breath came a little faster at the melting, slightly sharp tone in Crowley's voice. He shifted up against Crowley's hand, which was very warm, and found no give at all in the way the pads of Crowley's fingers were pressed to his shoulders, his palm flat over Aziraphale's hips and legs.

Of course size meant very little to things like him. He was ten inches tall and pinned to his desk. He was a stone tower stretching almost endlessly into a thunder-torn sky, garlanded with love and singing _holy holy holy._ He was 5'10 in his stocking feet.

He was getting increasingly turned on.

“I … I suppose this is a little better,” he said, suddenly aware of how breathy his voice was compared to Crowley's at the moment, how much lighter, how much _smaller._

“Oh good,” Crowley said. “It wouldn't do for you to catch cold, as little as you are. Poor thing, your lungs are probably the size of jelly babies, wouldn't you say?”

“Oh, I likely don't even have- Oh!”

He lost whatever he was going to say next as Crowley shifted his hand, riding his palm against Aziraphale's cock. It was stiffening with rather embarrassing speed in his trousers, and the insistent motion of Crowley's hand over it gave him no way to escape the sense of being utterly overwhelmed.

“Oh, you were saying, little angel?” Crowley asked with a smirk.

“Oh, Crowley, you ...”

Blanketed in warmth, Crowley's palm pressing against him just right, Aziraphale was a little lost in his own skin and therefore entirely unprepared when Crowley's hand lifted away.

“Oh tut, my goodness, look at you,” Crowley said admiringly, and Aziraphale glanced down, breathless and blushing.

His clothes had been pulled awry by his squirming, and his cock tented his trousers, a dark wet spot clear on the pale fabric.

“Oh-” He stuttered to a fascinated halt as he watched Crowley thoughtfully licking his palm, reddening even further when he realized what Crowley must be tasting.

“You look quite debauched,” Crowley said. “Is that any way for an angel to behave?”

 _Oh, this game,_ Aziraphale thought breathlessly. He deliberated for a moment, but there was really no chance he was going to decline, not when Crowley was looking at him with that hungry fascination, not when he had almost come already.

“No,” he said, his voice positively tiny. “I suppose not, sir.”

Now it was Crowley's turn to be a little wondering, eyes honey and not citrine, something gentle in the way he reached out to brush a fingertip against Aziraphale's cheek.

“Well, we'll just to have to teach you a lesson, won't we?” he said, more tender than stern.

A deliciously apprehension fell over Aziraphale, and he nuzzled Crowley's finger bashfully. At this size, it was easy to see that Crowley had no fingerprints and that his nails were hard black horn rather than fashionably painted. His very own personal demon, and Aziraphale's heart -the size of a jelly baby, the size of a fist, the size of God's own love for the world- beat faster.

“My perfect little angel,” Crowley said, taking a seat in Aziraphale's chair. “We'll soon put you to rights.”

He pulled a handkerchief from thin air as neatly as any magician, and then he rolled it up tightly, setting it on the desk and turning the goose-neck lamp to spotlight it.

“Get yourself over that, rear up, if you please.”

Biting his lip, Aziraphale did as he was asked, crouching over the cotton roll that smelled slightly of wood smoke. He shifted experimentally, his knees on the hard wooden desk and his elbows braced opposite. The handkerchief lifted his arse up, leaving him feeling incredibly vulnerable even before he felt Crowley's sharp nails plucking at the back of his belt.

“Oh Crowley!”

“Now, angel, you know that silly little things like you take it on the bare.”

No, he _hadn't_ known that at all. He yelped with real surprise as Crowley used something sharp to rip his trousers straight down the back before taking both edges of the torn fabric and pulling them apart. In a moment, Aziraphale was kneeling in the rags of his trousers, bare to the waist and painfully aware of how ridiculous he must look with his socks, garters and shoes still on.

“Cute,” Crowley snickered, snapping one of the garters around his calf. “But you're in need of a lesson, and I shan't be swayed.”

Aziraphale watched with fascination as Crowley picked up the bone folder he had been using earlier, a flattened shank of bone about seven inches long, about as wide as a ruler and barely thicker. Long use left it polished to gleaming, and thoughtfully Crowley pressed the length of it across Aziraphale's bare cheeks. The bone was cool and smooth against him but also utterly rigid, utterly unforgiving.

“Now,” Crowley said, obviously relishing the way Aziraphale was squirming over his handkerchief. “I want you to apologize for being such a nasty, slutty little thing that I have take you in hand like this.”

“And...” Aziraphale licked his lips. “And if I don't?”

Crowley's laugh was as sinister as his reputation. He leaned down to nuzzle Aziraphale, and Aziraphale felt the primeval terror of fangs as long as his hand grazing the back of his neck, Crowley's breath hot against his skin.

“Why, then I'll stop,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale shook his head frantically, because _no,_ that was _not_ on.

“Well, then, let's hear it,” Crowley said, tapping the bone folder across his arse gently. “Go on.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, shutting his eyes tight.

“I'm sorry I'm such a nasty, slutty thing,” he said, and the words were barely out of his mouth before Crowley flicked the bone folder down over his upturned arse. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see how brief the demon's motions were, how it was barely a flicker of his fingers, but he was so small that the blow felt overwhelmingly hard. He howled, immediately rising up on his knees to clutch at his abused flesh, and Crowley laughed, pushing him back down across the rolled cloth with the flat of his hand.

“Oh, you felt that one,” Crowley taunted. ”Look at you.”

Aziraphale sobbed, burying his face in his hands as the pain receded. His rear felt too hot, swollen already, and he gulped back the panic and the arousal at once.

“Poor thing,” Crowley said, holding him in place with two fingers against his lower back. “Say you're sorry again, and change it up a little, why don't you? You don't want me getting bored.”

“I... I'm sorry I wet your hand like a wanton little whore.”

“Emphasis on the _little,_ hm?”

Before he could respond to that, the bone folder flicked down again, just as overwhelming as it was the first time, and he wailed, rocking tightly against the fabric of Crowley's handkerchief. Tears started up in the corners of his eyes, and his fists clenched helplessly against the pain.

“Just look at the way you're rocking, positively disgraceful.”

The prim disapproval in Crowley's voice only made Aziraphale press harder against the fabric even as he tensed for the next blow.

“I'm sorry that being spanked on the bare arouses me,” he muttered, and Crowley circled his rear with the pad of his thumb.

“It's so very hard for you,” Crowley murmured with mock sympathy. “So very _difficult_ for you to resist such base impulses, isn't it?”

Another breathtaking swat had Aziraphale nodding desperately through a muffled sob. Yes, yes, he was a wretched little angel who could barely contain himself when under his demon's hand, yes, he was sluttish and wanton and reckless and needy, yes, he was absolutely going to burst if he didn't get more …

“Well, we'll just have to beat this lust right out of you. Teach you a good lesson.”

The words sent a hot spike of desire through Aziraphale's body, and suddenly it really did seem as small as it was, all of his emotions ready to burst out of him. Something in him gave itself up to whatever was coming next, which was good because now Crowley was spanking him in earnest.  
The flickering blows came down hard and fast, and Aziraphale had to take two great handfuls of the handkerchief to keep himself from being knocked crying onto his face.

It was too much, too much by far, the blows so thick and hard that he couldn't help panicking, couldn't help squealing and bucking against the roll he was bent over. When he kicked back out of pained desperation, Crowley pinned down his legs with his free hand and resumed spanking him with the other, blow after blow until Aziraphale simply went limp, sobbing almost hysterically and tears hot on his face.

The flurry of blows stopped as quickly as they started, and Aziraphale moaned as Crowley stroked his back with one finger. He was in that dazed and near-perfect state where the world was Crowley, Crowley's eyes and voice and touch. He had been there before but what a change it was to have Crowley bent over him like this, overwhelming and so utterly loving.

“There, there, little one,” Crowley crooned. “Let's see if that did any good, hm?”

 _Any good- ?_ Aziraphale wondered, and then he cried out as Crowley turned him gently onto his back onto the desk, his head pillowed on the handkerchief. He whimpered piteously when his hot rear hit the hard wood, but then he realized he had other problems when he looked down between his legs.

The spanking had left him hard and leaking, and even as he frantically tried to tug the tail of his shirt down to cover it, Crowley shook his head in pretended dismay.

“Angel, angel, angel, just what are we going to do with you?” he said mournfully.”Shall I fetch a few bristles from the broom to cane you between those pretty thighs? Shall I tie you up with some shoelaces so you don't give in to your own depraved lusts?”

“No, no, Crowley, please!”

“What should I do instead, hmm?”

Idly, Crowley nudged Aziraphale's hands away from the hem of his shirt, and without his pushing it down, his erection was display for all to see, red, leaking and needy. Mindful of the bone folder that still lay so close to hand and how his arse burned against the wood of the desk, Aziraphale didn't try to cover himself again, instead letting Crowley look his fill.

“You know, where I come from, they do say that the only cure for a temptation is to give in to it.”

“Do … do they say that?”

“Indeed, little angel. I'm afraid if a good old-fashioned paddling doesn't set you to rights, we'll have to try it another way. Let's have the rest of your clothes off now."

“Crowley, no, please.”

“Strip, angel, or shall I simply remove them myself. I shouldn't mind peeling you like a tweedy little banana.”

Oh it was too much to be borne, and red as a tomato, Aziraphale stripped off the rest of his clothes with trembling hands. He wasn't sure he could ever remember feeling this small or vulnerable, this much like a little toy for Crowley's pleasure. When he was bare in front of the demon, he remembered just in time not to try to cover his cock, barely softer with his hands, instead standing with them down by his side. He endured Crowley's examination, biting his lip as Crowley craned his neck this way and that, taking him in with greedy interest.

“Let's see how that rear of yours is looking, little angel. About face.”

Aziraphale turned as ordered, stumbling a little as Crowley pressed a finger between his shoulder blades to tilt him over slightly. The posture, bent over, his hands on his knees, forced his rear out and back, and he winced as Crowley chuckled, tracing the inflamed flesh with a fingernail.

“Oh, poor angel, been _so_ naughty,” Crowley murmured. “Let's see if you respond to something more positive, shall we?”

Aziraphale was about to ask what he meant when Crowley literally took him in hand. His bare chest was pressed against Crowley's palm, and Crowley's fingers curled around his torso firmly, grasping him with the perfect pressure to be comfortable and to reassure him that, no, he was absolutely not getting away.

Somehow, Crowley's littlest finger had gotten between Aziraphale's legs, and when it straightened, Aziraphale yelped in panic at how he was spread, one leg propped over Crowley's pinkie, the other dangling below.

“Oh Crowley!”

“Hush now, dear one, I'm looking over your office supplies, let's see.”

Of course Aziraphale couldn't see, not when he was turned away from his desk over Crowley's hand. Instead he had to wait in dreadful anticipation as Crowley inspected his things, only figuring out what the demon was looking at when he tickled Aziraphale's rear with the feather from a quill or when he ran the incredibly cold milled edge of a two pound coin over his leg.

Then there was nothing for a bit until Crowley suddenly laughed.  
“Ah there's the ticket,” he exclaimed with great pleasure.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, an anxious anticipation rising up in him. “Crowley, what are you doing?”

He squirmed in Crowley's hand, forcing Crowley to hold him even tighter, and Crowley made a tsking sound.

“I was going to show you until you started making demands. Honestly, what cheek. I suppose you'll just have to find out.”

Aziraphale wailed, but at least he didn't have to wait to find out. Suddenly Crowley was holding him more firmly, and something blunt and cold and impossibly slick nudged up between his cheeks. It felt enormous, utterly smooth, and it was far too easy to imagine what Crowley was going to do with it.

“Crowley, what is it?” he asked plaintively. “You have to tell me, you cannot simply-”

“Oh I can do whatever I like with my darling angel,” Crowley purred. “But, tell you what. If you tell me what it is, I'll give you something nice. Go on, guess.”

Aziraphale's mind raced, going over what was on his desk. Oh, but there was so much there, and he had been meaning to clean up for ages and-

He cried out as the smooth thing pushed at his tight opening, big enough to stretch him, but so slick that he knew that no amount of tension or tightness would keep it out, not when Crowley was so much larger and stronger.

“Crowley, please, just give me some time.”

“Oh, that wasn't part of the bargain,” Crowley observed, and he started rocking the thing rhythmically against Aziraphale's flesh, his motions as precise as clockwork until just a minute later, it had entered him, stretching his opening and making him squall.

“Crowley! Oh Crowley, please, it's so _big!”_

“Everything is when you're dolly-sized,” said Crowley cheerfully. “Have you got a guess yet?”

“Is it- ah!”

Whatever he was going to guess flew straight out of his mind as the thing pushed deeper inside him, and yes, Crowley was right, whatever it was felt enormous, surely wider than his wrist, just too much to be borne. His panic at the sudden invasion was mingled with an intense and addictive arousal, and for all that he struggled, his cock was rock-hard -should he say pebble-hard at this size?- and pushing against Crowley's palm.

“Oh that's lovely,” Crowley crooned. “You can't imagine what you look like like this, beloved. Just a perfect handful of desperation and need and want, because you want more, don't you?”

Aziraphale couldn't answer immediately, still accustoming himself to the girth of whatever it was inside him, and Crowley sighed.

“Is it too much, sweetheart? Oh, poor thing.”

The thing opening his arse started to slide back, but Aziraphale squeaked with alarm.

“No! Don't take it out, please!”

“No? I thought it was too much for such a little thing.”

“It's...I mean.”

“Yes?”

“I want it,” Aziraphale muttered, his voice subdued.

“What's that, not sure I caught it...”

“Crowley, please...”

“Communication, angel,” Crowley said in his prissiest tone. “It's what builds good relationships, yeah? Now, you tell me what you want me to do right this minute, or we'll stop, and you can have a nice warm soak in that soup tureen you never use and we can talk about-”

“Crowley!”

“Yes, angel?”

“Don't take it out,” Aziraphale said, burying his face in his hands. He was sure his entire body was red, though he couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or desire. “Please. Please keep going.”

“Keep splitting you open?” Crowley inquired politely. “Keep just reaming you out until you spend all over my hand, until maybe I could fit a whole finger up inside that cute little hole of yours?”

“Crowley, Crowley, yes-”

He gasped as Crowley pushed whatever it was into him fully with a sleek smooth slide. It had been slicked thoroughly so that there was no resistance, but it was so large that he was overwhelmed, imagining how it must look stretching out his hole, crammed up between his cheeks. The sensation was too overwhelming, and Aziraphale wailed until Crowley's hand went still, the intrusion halting just barely before it became unbearable.

Aziraphale collapsed limply into Crowley's hand, panting, his face wet, and Crowley leaned down to kiss his back gently, nuzzling him with just the tip of his tongue.

“Know what's stretching you out yet, angel?”

Aziraphale murmured incoherently, and then the pieces came together, the girth, the rounded tip, the coolness of the resin body, and he came up again, spluttering in outrage.

“Crowley! That's the 823!”

“Er, what?”

“Crowley, are you seriously using my Pilot Custom 823 pen to... to _bugger_ me?”

“It... is in fact a pen with a delightfully phallic end to it...well-guessed?”

“What nerve, that pen no longer comes in the amber model, and it was given to me by- oh!'

Aziraphale was cut off in his righteous (and frankly justified) tirade by the pen pulling almost all the way out of his body and surging back in again. Suddenly the sanctity of his favorite fountain pen was no longer so prominent in his mind, and he clutched on Crowley's hand instead, groaning out loud.

“You know, I think I had better just fuck that outrage out of you before this goes any further,” Crowley muttered. “Seems wise for my sake.”

Aziraphale would have answered, but suiting actions to words, Crowley drove the end of the fountain pen into his body, and his poor stretched hole could do absolutely nothing to keep it out. There was no resisting what was happening to him, the hard and unyielding shaft driving into him over and over again, and that feeling of helplessness blossomed into arousal so overwhelming that he had no choice but to give in to it.

He was helpless, utterly helpless clutched in Crowley's hand, being fucked and opened, _defiled,_ and that drawing tightness at the center of him spread out until his entire body was heating up, until he was all but rutting against Crowley's palm regardless of what the demon was doing to him.

“Crowley, Crowley, _please-”_

“Please what, little angel?” Crowley demanded. “Please open you up? Please use you like a little fuck toy made just for me? I ought to slide you next to my cock, put that tiny mouth of yours to work, hm? Should just keep you on this Custom Pilot Whatsit until you can make me come, wrap you around my dick, and-”

That did it. That image, pressed against Crowley's cock (or both of them, good lord), made to service it with his entire body, drove Aziraphale straight over the edge, passion and pleasure cascading over him as he froze and then shuddered. He spilled messily between Crowley's palm and his own belly, and on the first surge, his wings spread from his bare shoulders with an almost audible pop.

The pleasure of it all blinded and deafened him for a moment, and then he was draped over Crowley's loosened hand, his wings sagging and Crowley tactfully working the pen out of his exhausted body.

“My wings,” he said when he had returned to himself. “Oh goodness-”

“Popped them like a Christmas cracker,” Crowley said with satisfaction. “So incredibly adorable, angel, you have no idea at all.”

Aziraphale murmured something in negation at that, grumbling as Crowley carefully righted his hand and brought Aziraphale close to his chest. It was miles of black fabric, warm next to Crowley's heart, and before Aziraphale could remember himself, he nuzzled Crowley sleepily, making the demon coo.

“'m not adorable,” he grumbled. “'m a principality. Great bloody tower in the middle of the plain.”

“You are, you are,” said Crowley reassuringly. “Now I'm just going to get that soup tureen and make sure the implacable tower has a bit of a wash before dinner. Rudolfo's, I think you said, that's the small plates place, isn't it? Honestly angel, you should consider staying bite-sized. You could maybe get a full meal there for once instead of having to stop at the curry place on the way back.”

“Oh, but you love stopping at the curry place,” Aziraphale said, “It has those sweet things you like so much...”

He likely would prefer to be his standard human size for dinner, if only to avoid scandalizing the wait staff, but as he drowsed in Crowley's hand, he dreamed of waist-high lobster puffs, small seas of crème almondaise, delicately roasted herbed chicken, and smiling beyond it a gentle demon to slice it all up specially for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, Tezca! Thank you for such a great prompt- it was so much fun to write!


End file.
